Life Doesn’t Have to Be Sensational – Just Full of Sensation
When I got home last night, there was a voicemail from my doctor’s office. “Please call us at your earliest convenience.”
I lost my breath. I had my regular check-up two weeks ago, something bad must have shown up. I’ve had my share of health concerns - been in the hospital, filled with pain, lost sleep waiting for a biopsy. It’s not fun. What’s worse than my own experiences of being sick, are the memories of my mom suffering from cancer. It began when she was 28. Since I’m now 28, I realize how devastated she must have been, knowing her life wouldn’t be the long, thrilling ride she’d expected.
After listening to my voicemail once more, I did what any reasonable person would do. I ran to the nearest establishment serving chocolate milkshakes. While ripping off the lid and peeling out of the drive-thru, I dialed my best friend.
“Please assure me that I’m not going to die!” I exclaimed when she answered.
“Since it sounds like you’re driving, the odds aren’t in your favor,” came her quick response. “What’s that weird slurping?”
I was dipping French fries into my chocolate milkshake. This is stress eating, Sunny-style.
Our conversation eased my tension, but once I hung up, my mind began churning. What if I was dying? I thought of the things I haven’t done yet. Like float in a hot air balloon or stand in the middle of a river while fly-fishing. What if I didn’t get to see my friend get married this July? Would I ever lick garlic and olive oil from my lips at a Tuscan bistro? Sleep in a hammock?
Why haven’t I spent time going after the things I love? It’s been ten years since I went swimming in a lake, despite how much I crave an immersion in clean, cold water. I adore strawberry and Nutella crepes, but only eat them on special occasions. Red is my second favorite color, but I don’t own anything red. I keep saying I’m going to learn the tango, complete with rose bitten between my teeth, but I never do.
It can’t be over. I haven’t laughed enough. I haven’t loved enough. I haven’t eaten enough crepes!
When I was little, my mom took me to an antique car show. We stopped in front of a 1964 Cobra Roadster – cherry red and topless - a sexy beast designed to hug a California highway. “Wow, Sunny, look at that,” she said. “Just once, I’d like to drive a red sports car.”
That was her style. Red convertible, yellow bandana. Whenever I see a red sports car, I think of her. She did many incredible things, but she never got to turn the wheel of a saucy Roadster.
At 8 am (and not one second later), I called my doctor. “Am I dying? Please, just give it to me straight, Doc.”
Phew. Seems I’ll live a while longer. Some tests are needed, yes, but I’m not faced with anything as drastic as I’d feared. But that Roadster came roaring back. I saw the chrome, the curvy lines. My throat constricted as I heard my mom’s wistful tone. “Just once…”
This is my life. Right here. Right now. Maybe I don’t have as much time as I think. Will knowing the tango make my life more worthwhile? Will fly-fishing create instant fulfillment? Will these things erase any regret if I die young?
It’s not the tango, not the fly-fishing, that makes life amazing. It’s who you’re dancing the tango with. It’s who snaps your picture while you proudly display your brilliant (and slimy) catch. It’s the people you love, the people who love you. Being without friends would be my regret.
It’s sensation, too. It’s not really the tango – it’s the striking of heels on a ballroom floor, twirling until your hair falls loose, hands seizing your hips, licking the sweat from your lip. It’s not really the fly-fishing – it’s the rushing water against your thighs, standing in the midst of peace, the snap of your wrist, the sun melting your cheeks. Being deficient in sensations would be my regret.
For my mom, it wasn’t the Roadster. It was the wind, the freedom, the sass. I don’t think she’d regret not having zoomed the coastline in a vintage convertible for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Know what I think she’d say? “Sunny, I should’ve driven with the windows down every day.”
If I had only one year left, I’d devour the moments. I’d breathe deeper. Kiss longer. I’d banish the words, “maybe tomorrow”. And because my life could end any moment – no day is guaranteed – I’m already breathing deeper.
Tomorrow I’m spending time with my friend. I’m going to hug her until she asks if I’ve gone crazy. Then I’m going to buy a rose to bite before checking the price of renting waders….and I’m driving with my windows wide open.
For a Simple Life, Be an Authentic Rebel
When I was in my mid-twenties, I dated a Harley guy whose Night Train - decked in black chrome – was capable of kicking the crap out of any motorized vehicle. I know this from experience 
. I’ve never clutched anything as tightly as that Corbin seat.
When Bike Week rolled around in Daytona Beach, not far from where I lived, I held nothing back.
- Stiletto Harley boots – zipped and ready for attention!
- Leather chaps (in an elegant white leather) – Secured over the tightest jeans imaginable.
- Leather bustier (to match chaps) - How could I not?
- Bandana - A biker chick’s required accessory.
If you’d ever met me, you’d be chuckling. I’m a four-eyed, sneaker-clad bookworm. But what’s life without a crazy phase (or 2+), hm?
Somewhere along A1A, speeding at 85 mph on the back of that Harley, I realized I wasn’t being me. I still love the bike world. Whenever a Ducati Superbike 1198 S Corse zooms by, the corners of my mouth twitch.
“Yeah, baby, drive it like it’s stolen!” I shout, remembering the thrill.
During my biker phase, I ingratiated myself into a lifestyle that doesn’t fit me and dated a man who wasn’t right for me. For me, it was easier to dress up in someone else’s world. Easier, yes, but definitely more complicated.
When I began my simple life, I said good-bye to Mr. Harley. I pulled out my books and slid into my sneakers. Books aren’t better than bikes. Sneakers aren’t better than stilettos. But I’m books and sneakers. Anything else isn’t me. If you’re bikes and bandanas, then burn rubber. Anything else isn’t you.
That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try things that don’t, at first, seem like you. Go for it! Your new favorite thing could be around the corner, so circle the block as often as possible. But never leave behind your authenticity. Be yourself while being out of your element. Don’t ever change who you are. Under any circumstance.
Why should we be authentic? Here are my thoughts:
1. Your relationships are stronger. You find friends who may be different, but know the real you and, therefore, know how to support and love you.
2. You save your time/energy/sanity by not second-guessing yourself. You don’t worry about what to say or what to do. You go through life as yourself, trusting that you’ll find the people and experiences you’re meant for.
3. Life is more fun. You laugh easily. Gestures are genuine. Conversation is easy.
4. You encourage other people to be authentic. When you’re willing to be yourself, admitting to your imperfections, then the person beside you can, too.
5. You learn more. You’re not afraid of being wrong or seeing an issue from a different side. You listen. You grow.
6. You save money. When you go after the things that are fulfilling, you aren’t spending money on chaps that’ll wind up on eBay or books you’ll never read.
If you’re looking for a simple life, there’s only one place to start. With authenticity.
So, hello! I’m Sunny, a kooky minimalist bookworm. Who are you?
(Shiny side up, y’all! 
)
Details, Details – Simple Living and Conscious Choice
One of my favorite books written about simple living is Cecile Andrew’s The Circle of Simplicity. I was flipping through it again recently, and read a paragraph that struck me.
Setting out on our path to live more simply involves not only the big questions…but also the little day-to-day things – the TV you watch, the clutter on your desk, the errands you run. You need to look at it all. Do they reflect conscious choice?
Are the books you’re reading, the shows you’re watching, the people you’re spending time with, the food you’re eating, etc., bringing you joy? Are they healing you? Are they making your life a beautiful experience?
As I mentioned in my last post, I met Mr. Wonderful. Reading this paragraph made me think of the details of my life. And since I’m wrapped up in thoughts of Mr. W, I thought of the details of my time spent with him on Date #2 and Date #3. (Date #1 was too many margaritas and would require its own post!)
Our second date was dinner at an Italian bistro. I still taste my gourmet pizza, drizzled with truffle oil, and my nose twitches at the memory of our spicy glasses of Barbera. After dinner Mr. Wonderful and I strolled across the street to a swanky wine bar. We ordered a bottle of Shiraz, the cork which I stole for a memento. Our cheese and honey plate flattered the palette, coaxing the wine spicier. We sat together, laughing a little too long, a little too loud. It only made sense, then, to order two flights of wine after our bottle was empty. Why stop? He chose fruity Rieslings. I, the seductive syrahs.
Date #2 sparkled. Like twirling under a chandelier.
Our third date was take-out. Gyros the size of Montana. Bottle of Cabernet poured liberally, swallowed eagerly. Tzatziki sauce stained our chins, we laughed with mouths full. We sat closely, elbows bumping into each other. We became stuffed and drowsy. We peeled off our shoes. Our hands entangled, fingers tying together. His neck smelled of soap. There may have been kissing involved, but I’ll never tell.
Date #3 hummed. Like sinking under a warm quilt.
Fancy or simple, it makes little difference. You know what I like so much about Mr. Wonderful? Wine bar or living room, he’s the same person. I’m the same person. No pretension. Dating’s a lot more fun his way.
Still, I’d take the gyros any day. Because in quiet simplicity the details are stronger. Sitting closely enough to see the corners of his eyes crinkle while he laughs. Feeling his breath expand. Leaning into conversation and hearing his voice spoken softly. Throwing our feet up. The simplicity of it is divine. Sparkling and twirling is fun, absolutely. But they aren’t me in terms of the “day-to-day things”, as Cecile Andrews writes. Day-to-day I’m sneakers, messy Greek food, and cheap wine.
Before I became a minimalist, I never thought about the details. I never made conscious choices. I did what I was supposed to do. Now I do what I want to do. I don’t live by the dating rules. I don’t live by the climbing-the-ladder rules. Or the keep-up-with-the-Jones’ rules. I live by MY rules. I ask more questions as a minimalist. Will this [insert thing-a-ma-jig] add value to my life? Am I practicing daily habits that bring happiness?
It’s easy to be caught up in life’s necessary routines, and it’s impossible to avoid every unpleasantry. But what choices do you make consistently that aren’t supporting your happiness? If you gave honest consideration to every choice – big and small – what do you think would change? Would you enjoy the details more? Would you make time to throw your feet up and eat gyros?
I became a minimalist, and continue to grow as a minimalist, by following a path lined with trees - trees bearing joy as its fruit. I moved to a city where muddy sneakers are di rigueur. I read books that make me laugh. I eat foods that nourish each of my senses. I work on things I’m passionate about. I date a man who gives me butterflies. This is my life - chosen consciously, its details savored like chocolate – and it’s fabulous. Simply fabulous.
Taking Minimalism Too Far – Finding Balance
They say balance is good, but what’s the fun of not going overboard occasionally? I approached minimalism with the enthusiasm of an Olympic sprinter, embracing it to the point of distraction. Since minimalism is so cool, I place the blame at its feet, not mine.
I counted my belongings, obsessed over whittling my worldly goods to under 100 Things. ”Are a full set of dishes really necessary?” I asked myself. “Technically, a collapsible tin cup would do.”
I have everything I need. A place to sleep and a place to eat. Enough clothing to avoid frostbite. But when I ruined my favorite ballet flats after our first snow storm, I felt a twinge of regret. “Maybe I should’ve kept my snow boots,” I said. I began to reevaluate some of my choices. Had I gone too far?
Minimalism, when approached solely for its own sake, can make life complicated. I realize, now, that balance really can be good.
How did I figure this out? Because I met Mr. Wonderful. Yup, Sunny has found a tall, dark, and handsome man who’s turned her into a giggling idiot. I digress.
On our second date, Mr. Wonderful invited me into his downtown apartment. It’s a minimalist’s dream. Exposed brick, sleek leather furniture, stainless steel appliances. The man has taste (you figured that out already, right? ).
Unlike me, though. Mr. Wonderful owns a television and more than two pieces of furniture. He has a fully stocked wine rack and a carefully chosen book collection. An extra blanket is within easy reach to warm cold feet. His apartment, simple yet luxurious, demands relaxation.
I’ve also learned a lot from spending time at my friend’s house. Little luxuries are scattered throughout her home. Flower arrangements happily perch on the end tables, cookies taunt you from the kitchen, board games are always ready for action. Even though you don’t live there, you throw off your jacket and announce, “Hello! I’m home.”
My place, with only its bare necessities, warns you against getting too comfortable. Mr. Wonderful wouldn’t even have a place to sit if he happened to visit. No blanket for our feet. I’ll never welcome clutter or consumerism, but I’m ready for comfort. Things that may put me over 100 Things, but produce a sigh of contentment. Not things that are on sale, or things that suggest that I’m smarter/richer/cooler than I really am. Instead, I want furniture to lure people into sitting. Blankets to tuck them into their seat, making them want to stay a while. Wine glasses at the ready.
Over the past two months, I’ve slowly made additions. Fleece-lined boots, a fourth pair of socks, a warm quilt. Small things that make my life easier.
I’m a minimalist, and darn proud of it, but now I know why I’m a minimalist. I’m a minimalist because I want more time with Mr. Wonderful. I want long dinners with my friends. I want adventure and passion. And, oh yes, I want to travel everywhere with light pockets! But I want to invite people into my four walls, too, and serve them wine and cheese, hear their laughter in the place I call home. Furniture and stemware are required for this latter part.
Don’t be afraid to go overboard. Go crazy and have a party while you’re at it! It’s the very nature of extremes that makes me find my path. Don’t be afraid, either, of stepping back. Allow yourself to ask, “Am I missing something?” Because adding something meaningful, rather than stripping everything away, can simplify your life.
So, anyone know a good place for wine glasses?
Why It’s Important to Follow Your Passion, Even If It Never Makes a Dime
Despite a love of writing, I once did everything I could to avoid it. Doesn’t make sense, does it? Everyone told me to give it up, and I listened to them. “They’re right,” I’d say to myself. “If it doesn’t make money, what’s the point?”
Oh, boy. Thankfully, my philosphy has changed.
I currently work at the best job I’ve ever had. Why? Because I work 4 days a week, my commute is 5 minutes, the environment isn’t competitive, and the pay is decent. Still, I hate it. Why? Because I’m not meant for a cubicle. When my telephone rings, I stick my tongue out at it before answering. When I exclaim, “Work late to get this done? My pleasure!”, my eyes are mentally rolling. When my boss shows off her polka-dotted manicure to me, I shriek, ”Those are sooo gorgeous!”. What I’m really thinking is, “Wow, you paid money for that?”
Lately, though, I’ve been enjoying my job more. Did I get a raise? Nope. Set the building on fire? No, don’t have the guts for anything illegal Win the megabucks? I wish! Tell my boss where to shove her polka dots? Sadly, no.
I’ve been enjoying my job because I’m embracing my passions. It took several years of thinking (and, I’ll admit, being lazy), but I finally figured out what my passions are. Writing is one of them. When I’m up late at night, scribbling words to paper, I’m happy. Even when I get very little sleep on such nights, the next morning I wake up energized. The same is true of photography. When I’m exploring new corners of the city, snapping pictures, I may have walked twenty miles, but could easily walk twenty more.
When my life revolves around activities that make me smile, that bring out the best in me, I’m internally nurtured. I’m patient. Kind. Forgiving. At peace with myself, therefore at peace with the world. Everything in my life, including my unloved job, is easier.
Whether your passion(s) rakes in a million dollars – or never makes a dime – give them high priority. Wrap your days around them. Let them energize you and soften your sharp edges.
So, what’s your passion?
A Simple Way to Save Money: The Mason Jar
Since 2001, I’ve spent an average of $1,000/year on coffee drinks. After figuring this out, I knew I needed to cut back. Actually, it wasn’t so much a “need” as it was a “want”. I didn’t want to spend a fortune on coffee. Over these past nine years, I’ve spent roughly $9,000 on java. Ouch.
For over a month now, I’ve given up The Costly Bean.
It was a lot easier than I thought it’d be, Perhaps our fear of withdrawal is worse than the actuality. I’m not anti-fancy-coffees. To be without them forever would cause unbearable pain, so I treat myself on the weekends. Looking forward to that Saturday coffee - which tastes much sweeter when not consumed daily - helps me stay focused.
This is the first time I’ve been able to break my coffee habit, despite wanting to for the past several years. What changed? Well, I sat down and created meaningful goals for myself. One of those goals is simple, but it’s been around for a long time.
Ever since I was little, I’ve wanted to ride in a hot air balloon. Every year I’d plan to do it, but always stopped myself. ”Naw, it’s too frivolous.” But I’d say this as I ran to the nearest cafe, eagerly shaking out my money for a caffeine fix. Not anymore. This year I’m going for it. Balloon rides are expensive, upwards of $250, but this is only a fraction of the $1,000 once spent on coffee. (Did I mention the balloon ride includes a champagne brunch? For me, champagne trumps coffee.)
Knowing myself, though, how will I prevent another wimpy excuse? With a simple solution:
The Mason Jar
Any day that I don’t purchase coffee, I put $3 into the jar. Without exception. The jar is filling quickly, the curled green bills growing like a potted plant. This is my balloon money.
Each of us has some item/activity where we overspend. But how much, exactly, are we spending? Is it worth it? Could that same amount, instead, fund a dream you’ve always had?
Using a jar to stash spare change is a tried-and-true trick. When we vow to “spend less” and “save more”, it’s a worthy pursuit, but intangible. You have no physical connection to it. But when you cut back on a specific habit – coffee, cigarettes, drinks after work, cab fare, etc. – and put those savings into The Mason Jar (or Going-to-Cancun Jar), you see it. It makes the process come alive.
I encourage you to set a cut back (not eliminate) on something pricey, something you do daily or weekly. For every cab ride you don’t take, deposit the $15 you would’ve spent. If you normally have two drinks at your favorite martini bar, and you cut back to one, put that $15 into the jar as soon as you get home. Make sure you always have enough cash on you to make this possible.
Don’t count the money, don’t obsess over what’s in there, and don’t even think about dipping into it. Just add to it, faithfully, everyday.
How to Set Goals for an Amazing Life
For the past two years, I’d given up goal setting, but as 2010 approaches, I find myself asking, “Where do I want life to take me this year?” I’ve found out how difficult it is to get anywhere without goals leading the way.
To be fair, I needed this phase of inaction for several reasons:
1. I once dedicated too much time designing, tracking, and redesigning my goals. I became lost in the process.
2. I didn’t know what I really wanted out of my life.
3. I needed to step back, to recognize how important goals really are.
4. After living for so long by everyone’s expectations, I needed time off. Time to think, dream, and release those expectations.
This new year – new decade - is going to be the best I’ve ever had. I’ve figured out my dreams – dreams that are personally compelling - and I’m determined to follow them. My goals for 2010 were carefully chosen, polished into brilliance, broken into manageable steps, and conveniently saved into an Excel spreadsheet. I feel fantastic!
If you want an amazing life – whatever amazing means to you – then set goals. Today. Right now. Crack open your Moleskine and scribble away what you must get done this year. Not because you have to, but because you’ve got dreams. Your dreams are who you are, to deny them is to deny yourself.
Sunny’s Guide to Setting Goals for a Kick-Ass Life:
1. Make the process fun. Bake a cake. Wear a party hat. Sit on a mountain. Lay beneath an umbrella on the beach, Corona melting nearby. Put on your silk pajamas. Turn on Louis Armstrong. Whatever’s your thing. This is an event.
2. Brainstorm with enthusiasm. Pour yourself onto paper (or spreadsheet). Don’t concentrate on a list of goals yet. Instead, focus on the lifestyle you want. What kind of person do you want to be? What have you always wanted to do? Visualize every detail. Be sure it fits who you really are.
3. Make your list. Put your brainstorming into actionable goals. What’s needed for you to become the person you want to be? What actions do you need to take to get the life you want? If you want to become a scuba instructor in the Bahamas, write “Become a certified diver” as one goal.
4. Create a theme for the year. When you look at the things you’ve written out while brainstorming, what’s the reoccurring theme? The Year of Adventure? The Year of Simplifying? Give your year a name. Remind yourself often that this the Year of ____.
5. Polish your list. Once you have your list of goals, decide which ones you’re willing to commit to. The ones that will make the most impact, create the most happiness, and can be done over the next year.
6. Be realistic. Ick, I hate the word realistic. Dream big – as big as the Tetons, as bright as Vegas - but be realistic about how long it’ll take to get things done. Be patient and enjoy the process. No matter how dedicated you are, becoming a dive instructor and moving to the Bahamas requires more than one week. So, have fun with it! Research property in Nassau, scour dive shops for deals on all the gear you need, watch movies that showcase the beach (but skip Jaws and Cast Away, those might be a buzz kill).
If you’re realistic, you’ll meet your goals. You’ll be fueled for continued accomplishment. You may even exceed your original expectations. But don’t set yourself up with impossible deadlines, or wanting too much in too short a time. That’s not being fair to yourself.
7. Put a deadline on each goal. Do preliminary research. How long does it take to become a certified diver? How much money will it take to relocate? Once you have these basic details, make a deadline.
8. Break each goal into steps. Sketch a plan for each goal. For example, ”Become a certified diver” may include the following break down: (1) Research cost of diving schools, (2) Find a PADI certified school nearby, (3) Find rental shop for scuba gear, (4) Sign up for class.
I have these steps directly in my goal spreadsheet. My spreadsheet is divided into 4 columns: Goal/Next Action Required/Action Deadline/Goal Deadline. The “Next Action Required” column is the basis of my daily to-do list (a.k.a. Getting Closer to My Dreams List – see below).
8. Intertwine your list of goals with your daily life. Look at your goals everyday. Instead of creating a traditional “To Do” List, create a daily ”Getting Closer to My Dreams” List. Do 3 things everyday that bring you closer to step #2 (or #3, #4, etc.) in your “Next Action Required” plan.
9. Celebrate the accomplishment of each step. Accomplishment, in itself, isn’t the important part of goal setting. Creating momentum for your dreams/goals/amazing life, however, IS important. When you finish each milestone, do something to celebrate. Treat yourself, and a good friend, to a drink. Get a massage. Just do something that gives you pleasure.
10. Don’t get caught up in crossing the Finish Line. Goal setting isn’t a race or a contest. It’s a way to strengthen and focus your life. It’s a map to guide your amazing journey. Make it support you, motivate you, and keep you on track. But don’t forget that you’re planning how to live, not living to plan.
How Corporate America Dehumanizes Us
I’ve stumbled on some great blogs recently that focus on freelancing while traveling the world, making a living by following your passion, or simply designing a life that doesn’t involve The Cubicle. Reading the experiences of so many people who are following a non-traditional life is encouraging and I yearn to find my own unconventional path…the path that runs quickly away from Corporate America. Chucking the corporate life is scary, though. There are, as hard as it can be to admit, advantages to working the ol’ 9 to 5. Health insurance and regular (usually decent) pay are the two chains that keep me tied to my cubed prison.
But I’ve got a plan. A new financial plan, yes, and a freelancing plan. Both of which I’m really excited about. Because of my Type A tendencies, I don’t believe throwing in the corporate towel is wise – without first brainstorming, designing, and building whatever dream it is you have. Even if that dream is simply to step down to a business role with less responsibility, enabling you to enjoy your weekends. We’re not all meant to be writers, photographers, entrepreneurs. But we’re all meant to be happy.
The longer I remain in the administrative field, the more I come to loathe it. Ironically, the more I get paid and the better benefits I have, I loathe it even more. Why? Because it entices me to stay. To remain a drone. But as I sit in my lonely cubicle, surrounded by the ring of a telephone, the beep of a new email, the smell of rotting paper, and the grating voice of my boss always nearby, I’m reminded that sitting in this flourescent world isn’t natural. I’m dehumanized 40 hours of every week.
Here are the ways that Corporate America is dehumanizing:
1. We’re forced to “like” people we hate. We know we hate them, and yearn to scream, “Here’s where you can stuff it, you arrogant, stuffy, overpaid jerk!” Unfortunately, this would immediately yank abovementioned benefits. We remain silent.
2. We’re made to feel inferior by those who are “more important” than we are. I work for some smart people. They’re better at budgeting, making decisions that will bring in more money, and are just more analytical than I’ll ever be. But that doesn’t make them better. They may perform better than I can at 100 things, but I can perform better at 100 different things. The problem is that, in the corporate environment, only those qualities that can be framed and put on a wall – and those qualities that will make the company more money – are the ones that are respected.
3. We work 40 hours, even when there’s only 2 hours worth of work. We pretend to be busy. We minimize our personal email browser when the boss walks by. We arrange our desks so that it looks a little messy, because messy surely equals busy, right? We work Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve because it’s a Policy. The phone doesn’t ring, but we remain at our desks even when our family celebrates without us.
4. Your boss determines whether you have a good day or a bad day. I’m not allowed to decide whether my day is good or bad until I know what mood my boss is in. If my boss is mad, I’m made to pay for it. I’m still trying to master detachment from this kind situation, but it’s almost impossible. On these days, I actually get sick to my stomach waiting to be yelled at and blamed for things that aren’t my fault.
5. We’re forced to work when we’re sick. My department has a Policy that requires one of us to be in the office at all times. There’s no reason for this Policy, it was just decided one day. Being sick is often not an option. This also means that I’m never allowed to have any time off during Thanksgiving, Christmas, Memorial Day, Labor Day, the 4th of July, etc., because my boss automatically takes these days off. Every year.
6. A cubicle deprives us of our creativity and privacy. I’m pretty lucky where I work because I sit in a wing of the office that’s empty. It can be lonely, but I prefer it to being bombarded by commotion. But we have strict guidelines as to what we’re allowed to put in/around/on top of our cubicles – or, more accurately, what we’re not allowed. And personal boundaries can never be established when you work in a cubicle. Superiors think nothing of entering your tiny work space to steal your scissors, take a pen, grab a tissue, because your cubicle is open and easily accessible. My back is turned to anyone coming up behind me, so I’m startled at least a dozen times a day when this happens. I’m always on edge and nervous.
7. We’re not allowed to produce ideas on our own. When I first began the job that I work at now, I tried to implement new ideas. I worked hard to improve the processes that occurred monthly, to make these regular tasks easier. I once updated a task that took three hours and turned it into twenty seconds…then I was told to change it back. I’ve yet to make any positive change in my workplace, despite the fact that I’ve been there over two years.
8. Our authenticity is murdered. We aren’t allowed to say who we really are. Instead, we agree with our boss. To stand out, unless it’s saving the company millions of dollars, is a bad thing in business. We’re not encouraged to express our individuality.
9. At the end of the day, we have no energy left for ourselves. When I get home, I usually fall asleep on my sofa for two hours. I’m drained. Exhausted. I’ve listened to my boss complain (and pretended to empathize), run useless errands, smiled and nodded as expected, and completed unnecessary tasks for 10 hours. There’s nothing left for me at the end of the day. I have only enough energy to wipe the drool off my pillow when I finally wake up from nappytime.
We may not all suffer while working for The Man, but oftentimes we do. I’ve listed 9 negative aspects to the corporate life (as seen through the eyes of Sunny the Peon), but I’ve started using these to my advantage. They’re my catalyst for change, my motivation to go after my dream. That faithful bi-weekly paycheck is being saved toward my eventual freedom. If I didn’t concentrate on how much I hate dressing up in garbardine wool every day so that I can reapply my mascara after crying when my boss yells at me, I’d put off my dreams until “someday”.
Not anymore. I’m determined. I’m an individual who may never have that framed piece of paper from Umpity-Scratch University, but I’ve got passion. I’ve got non-corporate talents and, fail or triumph, I’ll do everything I can to make money doing the things I love. The things I’m good at. Those things that give me energy and make me feel alive….like a human being.
So, bring on the garbardine. And hand over my mascara.
What If You Only Tried to Impress Yourself?
When I read Your Money or Your Life several years ago, I turned immediately to the money-saving tips. I was quickly disappointed. “Change my own oil?” I asked with a roll of my eyes. “Puh-leeze!”
But when I read the next tip that promised to save thousands of dollars, I was caught off-guard.
“Stop trying to impress other people.”
I glanced at the shiny Coach purse (retail value too embarrassingly high to mention) sitting nearby. I’d purchased it because I believed the saleswoman who told me this would be an investment, because this bag would completely change my life. “You’re right,” I agreed, eagerly thrusting out my VISA. Everyone would soon recognize my savvy sense of style, which would soon force them to see how capable I am. I’d be promoted. Make friends. Mr. Sexy from Accounting would talk to me in the elevator. Finally, I would matter.
After reading that underlined sentence above, I realized my “investment” had only provided a fat payment into Sunny’s Stupidity Account. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only deposit I’d made into my SSA. Much *bling* padded this account. Expensive, but meaningless garbage purchased to impress a tier of people who didn’t give a damn about me – and I didn’t give a damn about them.
Then, why did I do it?
It started out with the yearning to fit in and make friends. It became a relentless pursuit for that thing – that elusive thing - that would Make Sunny Perfect. If I couldn’t like myself as-is, how could anyone else? I needed to hide beneath something that glittered so no one would see my uncertainty. Instead of gaining friendships or finding contentment, I became a self-centered, neurotic, and lonely person. Soon I began judging other people by their outer dressings because I was overly concerned with mine. It was an inner competition, but instead of winners or losers, there was only me…not good enough and unsatisfied.
What would my life look like if I only impressed myself? I’d high-tail it to the mountains, sell my worldly goods, end bad relationships, give up the fashionable rat race. I’d rip off the glitter.
I’m lucky to have accomplished some of those things already. I moved to Colorado two years ago, I’ve sold three-quarters of my belongings, and have cut my ties to unhealthy relationships. My SSA remains plenty full, though Most of these things happened by accident, rather than by design.
During a conversation with my best friend, I once announced, “Being broke was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Are you sure?” She asked, a hitch of disbelief in her voice.
At one point, after a string of bad luck, and youthful (aka stupid) decisions, I had only $1.16 for twelve days. I’ve never been as scared as I was during that week and a half. For a solid year, I lived paycheck-to-paycheck. I couldn’t buy any new clothes – even sold my winter coats on eBay to pay bills (that was a chilly winter!). An unexpected root canal forced me to sell my furniture on craigslist.
I spent a while feeling sorry for myself. I basked in regret, cried heartily, and was generally miserable. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t even change the misery. Because when I look at someone now, I see them with compassion. I don’t check to see if their purse matches their shoes. I search, instead, for character and authenticity. I no longer put a material value on my life – or anyone else’s. That’s a lesson worth the learning pain.
What I do value is kindness, acceptance, and love. When I found myself with nothing left, that’s what I was given by my friends. The friends who don’t care about Coach-whatcha-ma-call-its. I wouldn’t have traded these intangible gifts for any consumable good. Even as I remember their generosity now, my arms get goosebumps.
After being exposed to such qualities, I only want to pass them on. I don’t want to compete with people, or waste time pursuing the next purchase claiming to make my life better. I’d rather make the person next to me feel good about themselves. I’d rather reveal my imperfections so other people aren’t afraid to reveal theirs, too.
Though I don’t judge others based on their belongings, and my spending habits have drastically changed, I still struggle with the materialistic expectations of others. There are people in my life (and, unfortunately, we can’t avoid some of these individuals) who look me up – then down – with a curl to their upper lip. My clothes aren’t new and my shoes aren’t shiny. It stings and I hate it. But I hate it, I no longer hate myself.
Instead of impressing other people, I’m following a messier, less fashionable path. I’m no longer asking, “What will people think of me?”, I now ask, “What do I think of myself?”
How would you live your life if you only wanted to impress yourself? Would you wear the same clothes? Drive the same car? Have the same acquaintences? Take the same vacations? Work at the same job?
And if you only did those things that impressed yourself, how much money would that save you? Money you could spend on your dreams. If you only did those things that impressed yourself, how much time would that save you? Time you could spend giving.
Give it a try. Go out into the world – and impress the hell outta yourself.
